The Strength
by ArrowandShield
Summary: Steve just couldn't seem to figure out where Clint had learned it all. Pre-CaptainHawk. Asex!Clint. Straight!Steve.


**Steve just couldn't seem to figure out where Clint had learned it all...  
**

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**The Strength  
**  
Steve could never take his eyes off Clint when the archer moved. It wasn't so much as affection or attention as Steve was fascinated by the way that Clint seemed to glide from place to place.

The archer's steps were always so light, so silent, that even Steve couldn't catch them as he walked. Especially not barefoot; which seemed to be a favorite of Clint's after his combat boots or Chuck's sneakers. And Steve knew it wasn't just him. More than once an agent of SHIELD or a member of the Avengers would turn and startle as Clint would be standing there seemed to have come from no where. Blink and he was gone again, just as silently as he had arrived. Tony would threaten repeatedly to put a bell on the archer.

Steve wanted to attribute the silence of movement to Clint's training as a sniper and assassin, but he couldn't. Not completely. The snipers he'd known during the War had been a brash and noisy bunch, on and off duty. And a few video's JARVIS had been kind enough to show him of the LA SWAT Team proved that they moved with thuds and rattles and crashes.

And there were other things about the way Clint moved around. Like the fact that he never actually stopped. Moving that is. If he sat there was always a slow bounce of his foot up and down on the floor. When he stood in one place his weight seemed to ever be shifting, sometimes bringing one foot up onto pointed toe and seemed to stretch the muscles in his leg. His hands always moved, instinctively drawing signs for his words as he spoke. Clint had a habit of never walking around an object, be it furniture or otherwise. If it was in his path he would just step right up onto it and climb over to the other side. He seemed to constantly tugs at his ears and fluff his hair up the wrong way and wiggle his toes, Steve could tell because if he watched he would see the shift of fabric or leather at the end of Clint's shoes.

Strangest of all, if the timing was right, for no apparently reason at all Clint would seem to list to one side as he walked and sometimes topple right over. It never seemed to bother Clint, who picked himself up, would walk a clockwise and then a counter clockwise circle before heading off again on his previous trek. It was the only sign of clumsiness in the archer and Steve found it eerily out of place. He supposed there was some reason for it but hadn't asked. Not yet.

Oddly, besides the random and unexplained sudden falls, all these small movements and little quirks were carried out with silent grace. He moved fluidly and easily. Most people seemed to carve and hack their way through the world around them. Clint gave the impression that he was bending with it.

Steve hadn't asked, he wasn't ready to yet. He was trying to figure it out on his own, had turned it into a kind of game for himself. Where it all came from. The silence, the fluidity. Steve mulled it over and over, trying to think of what in Clint's passed had nurtured that easy movement or if it was all natural to him.

He considered dance. That some way or another Clint had been a dancer, though the idea had never really stuck. It didn't seem to be in Clint's personality.

Gymnastics was another option. Steve had seen Clint do a standing back flip before. Or a tumble across and slide across a floor or over the hood of a car. But he wasn't sure. But gymnastics seemed like something that required a lifetime dedication and a great deal of money to accomplish. Steve knew that Clint's life had been too unstable and he'd been poorer than poor.

There was that yoga stuff he'd seen Pepper Potts do and reference now an again. He'd watched some of the forms and movements and he'd dismissed it quickly. He wasn't sure of Clint was the type for something like that. It seemed to slow paced for the archer.

Steve turned different ideas over and over, discarding them time and again.

Steve returned to the shared apartment very late one night… and found Clint doing a one handed handstand on the back of the couch. Steve had practically walked into a wall staring at him. The archer had smiled and dropping his free hand to the back of the couch arched his body, dropping down to the floor with a soft thud and a quiet hello. As if he hadn't just been proving all the laws of gravity and physics didn't apply to him.

Steve had surprised them both with his shouted demand to know just how Clint managed it, where he learned it.

The soldier had flushed furiously but Clint gave a slight smile and told him simply, 'the circus'.

Steve listened as Clint told him about running away from foster care, joining the circus as a rustabout, hopping from show to show, getting his bow back at last, being hired as a trickshot. He talked about the work on the high wire and the acrobatics even a bit of work on aerial ribbons, about riding a galloping horse in a circle and making elaborate shots from her back.

It made sense though it was the last thing Steve would have guessed. He asked, more like begged, Clint to show him. The archer had flushed a bit but agreed, leading the way up to the rooftop of the apartment building. Most of the tenants had pitched in over the years, adding flowers and furniture, lamps and wind socks and even a fire pit to make the space a welcome patio and garden for everyone to enjoy. Steve himself had contributed a wind sock, a long pole that arched out over the side of the rooftop, a fabric design of a hawk with outstretched wings fluttered like a kite on a line in the light breeze of the upper floors. The hawk sock served a dual purpose of acting as a decoration and a means of keeping pigeons and nuisance birds away from the patio and garden. The rest of the building had been very impressed by it. Steve had more than once found Clint sitting on the ledge under the hawk sock, watching it sway and flutter.

Clint had motioned for Steve to have a seat on patio chair and moved out to the open decking where the fire pit sat center. The archer had stood for a moment, wiggling bare toes on cement before he was set into motion. Steve watched Clint roll and tumble, flipping forwards and back. His hands and feet never making a sound no matter how hard he seemed to land. He'd vault and twist, spinning in mid air. He used every bit of furniture and heavier potted plants to his ability. Steve caught his breath several times. Especially when Clint back flipped onto the rooftop ledge, landing in a hand stand and hand walking along to the corner before dropping back down to his feet on the roof.

Steve couldn't help himself and clapped wildly, praising the archer and making him flush a faint pink. Clint had motioned for Steve to come stand next to him, the soldier went willingly and waited for whatever it was that Clint intended to do.

Steve had stood like a doll until Clint physically manipulated him, nudging his feet into placement and pulling his shoulders into place. Then Clint had taken one of Steve's hands, laced their fingers so their palms were pressed flush together. The other settled on Steve's shoulder and a foot on the soldier's thigh. Steve was tense, confused and wary but he wasn't given a moment to second guess himself as Clint vaulted himself up into place, doing a handstand on top of Steve's shoulders.

The archer's body had bowed and swayed easily, compensating for the smallest movements that Steve made. His balance settling into place and he relaxed as his joints locked in. As long as Steve could bear his weight, Clint could hold the position.

The soldier stared up at him in wonder and Clint smiled down at him. After a moment he dropped his frame back, dismounting from Steve's base and stepped back. Their hands were still locked together, fingers laced.

Steve realized in that moment that all the movements, the vaults and twists. They were not just acts of speed and grace. They were made out of sheer strength. Clint, for all his lean frame and small stature was in ordinarily strong. Muscle and sinew chorded like steel and iron under his skin. It shocked Steve for a moment that something so small as Clint could be so strong. It was the kind of things that he'd never been able to think about himself despite the similarity of their circumstances.

The silence had rung nosily in the room until Steve had asked a breathless 'how'.

Clint smiled warmly, responded only with a simple promise of 'I'll teach you'.

Six months. It was six months of hard training and refinement of movement and muscle groups, slipping in time together between missions, work, training sessions and what little sleep they took for themselves. Six months of stumbles and slides, bruises and scrapes. Sore joints and pulled muscles. There were fights and frustrations, even a blow or two exchanged. Quiet and shame faced apologies and promises.

It was six months before Steve and Clint performed flawless aerial vaults and back flips in perfect sync. Six months before Steve fearlessly did a handstand on Clint's shoulders, knowing the archer was strong enough and wouldn't let him fall.

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**A/N: Another one of those whimsical little ideas. This was actually a one word prompt: 'circus'. hope you guys enjoyed!**


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